Salvation
by Duilin
Summary: "There is no salvation for me, Maitimo," Maglor said calmly. "There is no repentance for what I have done. Maybe in another hundred years, I will come to my senses. For now, let me wallow in depression and delirium. Let me stay in sadness."


Something placed a hand on Maglor's shoulder.

_("Adar. If you stay out here, you will become stuck to the sand," said a teasing, affectionate voice.)_

Maglor tsked. "Orc."

The offending creature raised its scimitar, and Maglor, without the least bit of hesitation, drew his sword and beheaded the thing in one slice, turning on the spot as he did so, looking down upon it as the head fell, disturbing the dust as it hit the dirt. He was quite used to seeing these creatures now. However, he wasn't quite used to seeing his hallucinations, but he was quite sure they were palpable. Every time he reached out to feel Maedhros, he'd feel something. His soul was not quite solid, but it had congealed to some degree. But Maglor didn't understand why he would be able to see Elrond.

Maybe they were hallucinations, but Maglor certainly didn't see Maedhros now. All he could see were stretches of trees and grass, and as he walked into a clearing, unaware that there was another in it, he saw the sun, shining down brilliantly.

"Speak your name, trespasser, before I pierce your temple through with the point of an arrow."

Maglor sighed and dug his blade into the green forest ground. "I speak my name with good intentions, sir, but if I speak it to you, I am afraid that consequences will follow."

_("You know, you always seemed so innocent and sane, but now, I'm not so sure that I can look at you the same now, Maglor.")_

He faced the stranger. "Who are you?"

The one who called him 'trespasser' held the string of a bow to his eye and stared intently at him. "I cannot speak such formalities to one as _you_, wanderer."

"Then why be formal?" replied Maglor, smiling amiably. "We could allow you to impale yourself upon my blade and be done with discourse. There would be no need for formalities then."

"You talk boldly for one who is not on your home ground."

Maglor inclined his head politely to the left, and his smile widened as he shook his head at the ignorance of the archer before him. "Ah, I have no home. Not all people can be confined to the same space every day, following old rituals, nuances, reminiscing in memories and relishing the fact that they may keep them while I wish it were not to be so. Not everyone can suffer the pain of the past as it comes to him when he recalls things, perhaps, such as when he bumps into an old book that he had and remembers that he once slew someone with it by crushing their skull to splinters, or perhaps he had taken the old sword in the closet and disemboweled his next visitor, or even seeing the old candleholder that once held a candle involved in the plot of burning his comrade to ashes."

The archer looked at him in almost...amazement. Maybe he was horrified. "You are possessed."

The Elf was extremely shocked when Maglor started to chuckle, closing his eyes and grasping the hilt of his sword. He stepped back, but Maglor stepped forward, negating the action. "Oh, stranger, do you really believe that I am possessed? Do you believe a demon is in control of my soul? Some sort of force of evil?"

"Yes." The Elf's voice held no conviction; his fingers started to tremble at his bowstring. "You are not a whole, blessed soul. May the Valar pity you."

_("No, the Valar will not pity us now. We have crossed them every way and have denied their will as unanimous to ours. It is too late for us, Maglor. This is why we must set out tonight. We must take them back!")_

At once, the archer realized this was the wrong thing to say. Maglor's smile visibly dimmed, and the caring sincerity in them lessened.

"May the Valar pity me?" he stated flatly. But it was also raised in question, as if he was inquiring if the Valar were capable of pitying him.

_("Adar, where are you going?" _

_"Yes, where _are_ you going, Adar?")_

"All beings in wretchedness should be pitied," said the archer nervously.

"Tell me, archer and stranger. What is your name?"

The archer had good common sense and knew he was not speaking to a simple trespasser now. "Bragol."

"Fleeting."

Bragol flinched and stepped back once more.

"Why run from me, Bragol? I cannot do any harm to you," said Maglor reasonably, holding his left hand out and stepping towards him once more, his other hand holding the sword pulled from its place gently and trailing after its owner. "I can only..." His smile returned to a full, radiant mirth. "...take pity on you. Take my hand. Take my hand, and I will tell you my name."

Bragol shook his head firmly and lowered his bow so he could prepare to run. "No. Do not speak your name. Do not hold out your hand."

"Oh, Bragol, you cannot run," Maglor replied lowly, his tone almost musical. "You cannot run from me."

(_"Maglor...Maglor, he's dead already. There's no trace of life... He's dead already! Stop shaking him! We must fight, Maglor! There is no time to retrieve his body. He is finally with his twin now.")_

"I will kill you first!" cried Bragol and strung his bow once again, pulling up the arrow and aiming it right at Maglor's throat. "Do not step any closer."

Maglor looked at him pityingly. "Allow me, Bragol, to bring you peace. I will bring you peace. You will not have to endure life; I will end it for you." He stepped forward.

"Do not come near me, madman!"

_("He... He can't hurt us, Elrond. I'll protect you. I _will protect you.")

"I'm sorry for you, Bragol. I'm sorry."

Bragol closed his eyes, a mistake he should have never made, and shot the arrow. Maglor made no attempt to dodge it and allowed it to pierce him, right above the heart.

Maglor was close to the archer now, and his height was significantly taller than the archer's. "Forget my name as I tell you, Bragol," whispered Maglor, "forget my name as I tell you, because you will not speak it again. Forget it as I tell you that my name is Maglor, and I am a Kinslayer, a Noldo, and an Exile. I am the second son of Fëanor."

And then, Maglor raised the sword and placed it to Bragol's throat.

"You will feel better, after you have been received into the Halls of Mandos."

Bragol's eyes opened, and he spat at Maglor. "They will keep you in there forever, you demon. You possessed demon!"

Maglor grinned at him. "Bragol, I will not being going to the Halls of Mandos. There is no place there for me."

He grasped the shaft of the arrow and pulled it from his torso with ease, without even flinching. Then, he placed it at on Bragol's cheekbone and edged the tip upwards. "Say your goodbyes," Maglor told him softly, allowing the tip of the arrow to touch Bragol's light blue right eye.

"Go to hell," Bragol replied angrily, his muscles tensed. He could have run. He could have run, but he did not, because he had been captivated by this...this...Noldo.

It was quick work, killing the archer. Maglor pulled the sword back and pulled the archer forward, impaling the Elf on his sword. Bragol stood there, gasping for breath and finding only blood in his lungs as Maglor held him there. From far away, it only seemed that Maglor was embracing the Elf. But Bragol stopped breathing and hit the grass with a thud.

"Unfortunately," Maglor said quietly, "I am already going to hell."

_("The Oath comes first, and you know it most of all, Maglor."_

_"I know. But we cannot kill children. Defenseless children."_

_"Very well! Take them! Take them, nourish them, and give them your love, but when you must take that love back, then what pain will it give you then?"_

_"I can endure pain, Maedhros."_

_Maedhros shook his head at him.)_

"Macalaurë," his hallucination spoke. "You do not endure it... You merely interpret it as your mind failing you as the world spins around you and continues."

Maglor shrugged and sheathed his sword. "And what does it matter, Maitimo? Is it a sin to prevent myself from feeling pain?"

"Are you truly living?"

A harsh laugh burst from Maglor's lips. "I stopped living when everyone left, and when I left everyone."

"They pity you, Macalaurë. They pity you and watch you suffer."

"I do not pity myself," Maglor replied firmly. "I do not pity myself because there is no reason to, and they should not pity me either."

"You killed this Elf for no reason," Maedhros told him gently. "You killed the Elf Bragol because you wanted to."

Maglor frowned, deep in thought. "I did not kill him because I wanted to." He held up his hand, stained with red, dripping crimson. "I killed him and brought him to mercy. I brought him to the Halls, where he could find eternal rest."

"No, Macalaurë. That was not your intention, was it? Nor was it wanting to kill him. You wanted _him_ to kill _you._ You wanted him to make the first move and kill you so you would not have to live through such a life, as your fate is to live on. You cannot change fate, and fate twisted you into this and caused you to take his life."

"I have no reason to wish to die."

Maedhros sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "You have every reason to wish to die. But you are so self-destructive, because you want to live, to punish yourself and carry the full brunt of our actions on your shoulders to repent. So let the Valar pity you. Let them pity you, and do not resist."

"There is no salvation for me, Maitimo," Maglor said calmly. "There is no repentance for what I have done. Maybe in another hundred years, I will come to my senses. For now, let me wallow in depression and delirium. Let me stay in sadness."

"Why? Why won't you let us help you?"

Maglor started to walk away from his brother silently.

Then he turned and said, "It is the only way I can cope."


End file.
